


digital love

by orphan_account



Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 01:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brian is three pages deep in a Word document when Stewie sends him a message.





	digital love

**Author's Note:**

> The title is, unsurprisingly, from "Digital Love" by Daft Punk.

Brian is three pages deep in a Word document when Stewie sends him a message.

Three pages may seem like nothing to brag about, but if therapy has taught him anything, it’s that, even with decent insurance, it’s still too expensive, and that, if Stewie didn’t practically force him to attend, then Brian wouldn’t be wasting his money on sessions with Dr. Proctor, who Brian is not entirely convinced didn’t legally changed his surname to “Proctor” after he graduated medical school. His real surname is probably, like, Smith. Or maybe something ethnic? He’s dark enough that Brian has his suspicions but light enough that it could just be a very consistent tan.

If therapy has taught him anything else, however, it’s that it’s alright to brag sometimes. You shouldn’t think of it as bragging, of course, because that’s a negatively-charged word, but it’s been drilled into his head that he’s allowed to be proud of himself, of his accomplishments. It feels a little pathetic to be proud of himself for writing three pages, but he’ll take a pathetically-tinged happiness over a straightforwardly-pathetic sadness. It’s, at the very least, what Stewie deserves.

He saves the document and tabs out of it, pulling up Skype. Stewie has sent him a message that simply reads, “Call me.” It’s…a little intimidating, if Brian’s being honest - Stewie’s grammar is impeccable always, but he usually punctuates his messages with emojis. For a brief, terrifying moment, Brian has convinced himself that Stewie is breaking up with him, then remembers that Stewie, while a bit of a bitch, isn’t so cold that he’d break up with Brian over Skype.

He calls Stewie. Stewie picks up after three rings. Stewie is wearing body glitter and absolutely nothing else.

“ _Hi_ ,” Stewie greets him, elongating the _I_ and smiling loosely. His cheeks are red and round like apples. He looks like Satan’s favorite cherub, despoiled and glowing, back-lit by brimstone and drunk off wine.

“Are you drunk?” Brian asks him.

“I may have went to The White Swallow,” Stewie tells him evenly - too evenly, like he’s trying very hard to sound like he isn’t drunk. “And I may have done some body shots off a twink.” He wrinkles his nose. “He was with an elderly man - I don’t mean a silver fox; I mean a literal senior citizen. Why would he let his boy toy off his leash? He had such smooth skin, too…” he sighs.

“So you _are_ breaking up with me, then?” Brian asks. “Because of the whole admitting just now to cheating on me thing?” His voice is surprisingly even, too, considering the fact that he’s speaking around a lump in his throat the size of a small planet.

Stewie snorts derisively. “I said I did some body shots off a twink, not got railed in the bathroom by three burly Puerto Ricans,” he counters.

“Lois put you to bed hours ago,” Brian says. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“It’s called a window, dummy,” Stewie says. “Anyway, I came home, didn’t I?” The _to you_ is unspoken, yet it’s practically the only thing that Brian hears. “I had to tell all the men at the bar that I had a big, strong man already waiting up for me.”

Brian wants to lie and tell Stewie that he wasn’t waiting up for him; instead, he smiles, suddenly feeling a lot more confident than he did after writing those three pages. “This big, strong man’s already on his way upstairs, then,” he tells Stewie.

“Not so fast, mister,” Stewie says. “If I wanted you here, then I would have fetched you myself. No, I think it’ll be a lot more fun tonight if you stay right where you are.”

“Sitting in your parents’ kitchen with an erection that I can’t do anything about doesn’t exactly sound like my idea of fun,” Brian points out.

“Did I say that I wouldn’t let you do anything about it?” Stewie asks. “Bear with me while I conduct a little experiment on you - I want to see if you can come just from this.”

“What’s _this_ , exactly?” Brian asks, though his stomach is already fluttering at the images that his mind is conjuring up. Stewie has a funny way of filling him with butterflies.

“Watching you scroll through Facebook for an hour,” Stewie says dryly. It’s unfair how much more composed than Brian he sounds when he’s drunk. He re-positions so that Brian’s screen is suddenly filled with his incredibly modest erection (the only thing, Brian thinks, that’s modest about him), and, though Brian can no longer see his face, he can still hear him roll his eyes.

“We’re going to get each other off like this,” he explains. “Like phone sex for the modern age. Well, more modern than using a landline, at least.” He wraps a hand around his cock, starting to slim away from what used to be chubby baby fists into hands that more closely resemble what Stewie will look like when he’s older - model-thin, more anorexic than genetic, but with full lips like his mother.

“I can tell that you’re thinking about Lois,” Stewie accuses him. His hand falls away from his cock, resting on his thigh.

“You can’t even see my face!” Brian exclaims before remembering that it’s close to one in the morning and everyone else is in bed.

“That wasn’t a _no_ ,” Stewie sniffs disdainfully. “I won’t play second fiddle to my whore mother, _dog_.”

“I wasn’t thinking about her,” he half-lies. “I was thinking about you. Your mouth, specifically.”

Stewie hums contemplatively, then wraps his hand back around his cock. “Go on.”

This, Brian can do. “I hadn’t gotten very far before you started bitching at me,” he says, and when Stewie makes a displeased noise, Brian adds, “but right now I’m thinking about you crawling under the table and blowing me. Wish you would, actually.”

“It would ruin the integrity of the experiment,” Stewie complains.

“I want to ruin the integrity of your throat, though.”

Stewie snorts. “Charming,” he says. “The integrity of my throat was ruined the first time you spunked down it. There’s nothing left to ruin.”

“There was nothing left to ruin years before we started having sex,” Brian says.

“Are you calling me a whore, now?”

“Eh,” Brian says noncommittally. “That depends: do you want me to be calling you a whore?”

“Of course,” Stewie says. “Don’t play dumb. Not that you have to really _play_ it…”

“You’re dumb,” Brian mutters under his breath. “Anyway,” he says, voice returning to its previous volume, “what kind of toddler enjoys being called a whore?”

“The same kind of toddler that enjoys sucking the family dog’s cock, apparently.” Stewie readjusts the laptop so that the webcam is on his face once more, and unceremoniously pops a finger in his mouth, sucking on it just loud enough that Brian can hear the faint, wet sound of his tongue working around it.

“I’d like to think that my cock is bigger than one of your fingers,” Brian says.

“I’d like to think so, too,” Stewie says, briefly withdrawing said finger, shiny with saliva. “But simply thinking something doesn’t make it true, unfortunately.”

“Implying that I have a shrimp dick isn’t exactly winning you any points here.”

“Stop being so sensitive,” Stewie sighs. “Fine: your cock is perfect, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“That’s at least closer to dirty talk,” Brian concedes.

“Mm, right, dirty talk,” Stewie murmurs. “That’s what we were doing. I wasn’t just fellating my own finger to titillate you, you know. That’s all I really need to open myself up with. I fingered myself before leaving already, anyway.”

“You could win back some points by showing me,” Brian tells him.

“I thought we agreed to dirty talk,” Stewie teases, “not a _performance_.”

“ _We_ didn’t agree to shit! _You_ told me that I had to stay here instead of coming upstairs and then proceeded to virtually shove your cock in my face!”

“I don’t pay for you to go to therapy once a week so that you can snap at me,” Stewie says - evenly again, though he sounds significantly more sober this time. “And keep it down. You don’t want anyone seeing you beat your meat at the same table where we eat, do you?”

“I’m _this_ close,” Brian warns, holding up his fingers, nearly touching the tips of two together, “to shutting down and going to bed.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. I know that nothing would kill the mood faster than the Fat Man waddling in there. Would watching me fuck myself with one of my toys be enough of an apology?”

“Oh, yeah, watching you get fucked with a Bad Dragon dildo definitely sounds like an appropriate apology,” Brian snaps. “That monstrosity doesn’t look a thing like me. It’s like watching you get fucked by another dog.”

“I was thinking more the vibrator,” Stewie says, “but the immediate jealousy suits you, I must admit, and I’m getting tired of arguing with you, anyway, so I’m making an executive decision: you can come upstairs and fuck me yourself.”

Brian’s response is to snap the lid of his laptop shut and kick back the chair so quickly that the legs make an shrill scraping noise against the tile. He doesn’t have time to wince, though.

Stewie is waiting.


End file.
